


Shut Up, Malfoy

by Elle Gray (LGray)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco pretending he doesn't know exactly whats going on, Harry jumping in head first as usual, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Kissing, M/M, Secret Relationship, hand-holding, up against a wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 04:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18438608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LGray/pseuds/Elle%20Gray
Summary: Harry and Draco meet in a corridor, not because they're up to something, just because their fellow Eighth Years wouldn't quite understand them wanting to be friends. That's all this is, right? Friends?





	Shut Up, Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by  
> [an adorable lil pic,](http://lila-bolger.tumblr.com/post/54239892243/shut-up-malfoy-drarry-fan-art) posted on tumblr by @lila-bolger  
> 

‘Why are you holding my hand, Potter?’

‘Shut up, Malfoy.’

'Seriously. What are you doing?’

'Shut up, someone’s coming.’

'And what?’ Draco hisses. 'Do you want them to think we came here to hold hands and whisper sweet nothings to each other?’

'I want you to shut up, like I said earlier. They’re getting closer.’

Draco sighs, trying his hardest to ignore the soft warmth of Harry’s hand gripping his palm; trying to ignore the current of his unrestrained magic fizzing in Draco’s bones, turning all of his normal feelings of discontent and mild annoyance upside down; trying to resist the instinct to base his entire existence and the point of his very life around the sensations in his hand. And failing. Failing a lot.

'Who is it?’ he breathes, since distracting himself might be enough to stop his traitorous cock from taking an interest, which it’s threatening to do.

'Hufflepuff,’ Harry says, the word barely audible. 'A girl.’

'Well at least it’s no one important.’

'Of course,’ Harry scoffs. 'So long as you keep stupidly assuming the houses are completely siloed and that girls never talk about anything weird they see in the corridors.’ He sighs. 'If Ron and Hermione hear I’ve been seen with you, they’re going to…’

'Same goes for Pansy, but this is a recess, Potter, not an alcove, so she’s definitely going to fucking see us, isn’t she?’

'Pull your hood up,’ Harry says and his grip on Draco’s hand tightens. Whatever shreds of self-preservation he has left apparently warranting an appearance now, trying to hide this pitiful, almost non-existent secret they have that wouldn’t scandalise the most sensitive house elf, let alone a boring bloody Hufflepuff.

'I don’t see why-’

Harry spins, letting go of Draco’s hand and reaching over his shoulder to grab the hood of his cloak and yank it forward, forcing Draco’s carefully arranged hair the wrong way and sending a shiver of something treacherous down his spine.

He has only a second to process the closeness of this other boy, of Harry. The heat of his body; the rush of want that flares in his own gut; the need to be touched by the hand that’s so close to his face already… and there, distantly, the soft, scuffing clap of a pair of ballet flats on stone, metres from their position against the wall. The world stills, quiets, ‘til there’s only the sound of their breathing. Then his world narrows to nothing at all but soft, encompassing darkness and a delicate pressure against his mouth.

Draco forgets everything that isn’t happening right now. The only sensation left is the frantic beating of his heart and the taste of someone else’s tongue in his mouth. And fuck if he knows what’s going on. He might as well have been born this very second for all he understands about this moment. Harry Potter, the guy he’s not really ever allowed himself to think about in any sort of meaningful way, is kissing him. In a corridor, in the dark, at about 8 o'clock on a Tuesday, with one hand holding his hood and the other worming his way into his cloak and spreading flush against the soft wool of Draco’s jumper, right over his hip. He feels like he might explode, perhaps right there, where Harry’s hand is.

But he doesn’t. Time, maybe, probably, passes. Draco isn’t entirely sure, but he knows academically that that’s what time does, and he’s pretty sure he’s still alive and thus, vulnerable to time. If he’s actually dead, it would certainly explain why Harry isn’t stopping, why he’s still kissing him, why his hand is still on Draco’s hip, though it seems very much to be under his jumper now and all over his skin. It would sort of also explain the fact that his dick seems to be experiencing some sort of very determined rigor mortis.

He wonders if he should put an end to this. Just to see if he is alive. He closes his mouth around Harry’s top lip, the bite of fresh stubble rough against his sensitive skin. He waits, feeling Harry’s breath against his chin, the soft drag of his lower lip, the flex of his hand as he expects Draco to keep moving, to keep allowing this… anomaly. Then he pulls back.

'What’s wrong?’ Harry asks.

'What are you doing?’

'There was a Hufflepuff…’

'So?’

'I didn’t want us to get caught?’

'How would her seeing us standing in a corridor constitute 'getting caught’?’

'Well….’

'Well,’ Draco pauses, and he tells himself it’s for dramatic effect but he’s actually just terrified of saying it. 'Why were you kissing me?’

'I dunno,’ Harry shrugs, his eyes flicking around before easing up to meet Draco’s gaze, lashes dark and brow set in stubborn defiance. 'I guess I wanted to?’

'You wanted to?’ Draco cocks an eyebrow and wonders if it does anything at all to hide the shrill panicked edge of his voice. 'And you, our divine saviour, just get to do whatever you want?’

Harry rolls his eyes and Draco feels the pressure of warm, calloused fingers slide away from the thin, vulnerable skin over his hip bone.

'Sorry,’ Harry mumbles.

'Are you?’ Draco means for it to sound sarcastic, biting, strong, but he fails. He must, because the weirdest look passes across Harry’s face, a sympathetic, desperate sort of worry, just for a second. Then he’s back, body slamming against Draco’s like he’s trying to sink them both into the hard stone wall, and his hands are everywhere and his mouth is hot and wet and claiming Draco’s own, again and again as he bites gently at the swollen flesh of Draco’s bottom lip and just… Doesn’t. Stop.

Draco feels a part of himself die a little, the remains of his teenaged resentment and jealousy and ever-denied want dissolving into a burning sort of pain in his chest. It’s all he can do to breathe. He’s still sucking in air somehow, past the onslaught of Harry’s affection, or whatever this madness turns out to be. And then he just… can’t anymore, because instead of hands grabbing at his waist and his chest and his arse, they’re grabbing at his cock and his waistband and fuck, that thin draft of cold air across his belly is enough to shock him out of heavenly acquiescence for a second and he pulls his mouth away, not sure why he’s about to ask, but needing to say something to mark the occasion.

“Why are you holding my cock, Potter?’ he growls and his voice wobbles a little, and he sounds completely debauched already, with nothing to blame but the hand of the man who saved him wrapping loosely around his dick and the sound of the both of them panting in the darkness.

'Shut up, Malfoy.’


End file.
